A little short story I threw together at work. Enjoy!
They
were being noisy again. Always, the noise. It drove him insane. It always did,
and it never seemed to relent. They were
banging away, sometimes fighting, sometimes laughing. Always living it up.
Always so… Lively. It was enough to make him scream and howl. Sometimes, it
did.
He
paced back and forth in his little kitchen. He liked it here. It reminded him
of mother. She would know what to do with these people. He vaguely recalled her
whispering some advice. Not that long ago even. A way to get the neighbors to
shut up with their racket forever. Yet
the ungodly noise continued. She
would’ve known what to do. She always did. Mother always knew best. The banging was louder now. Mother would
never approve. He was so frustrated at the racket he finally started to break
down and sob. It came out in choking halts, a thing of anxiety rather than
ordinary grief..
How had
things come to this? After mother died everything seemed to have fallen apart.
Mother was his world and now his world had collapsed. Mother had always sheltered him from the
neighbors and their infernal noise. She would pound on their door and make it
all better. They hated mother. She had told him. Mother always knew best. He rarely spoke to her now, terrified of
incurring her wrath. He squatted down by
her freezer, sobbing and whimpering. He did this often, cowering like an
oft-kicked dog. He didn’t mean to upset
her or disappoint her. He was just so lost without her guidance, her solace,
her touch at night. Things were definitely getting worse.
The
horrendous noise was getting worse, too. It certainly wasn’t helping his
situation. Were they having a party? It sounded like they were dancing on the
very walls. He hated dancing. All that
gyrating, noise, touching. Touching was the worst. Only mother’s touch was ok.
The rest was just so invasive. So vile. Such a reminder of what a naughty
little boy he was. A betrayal of mother.
Just thinking about it made him let out a sort of rasping shriek.
They
were shouting now. Moaning, too. Yelling
incoherently, the specific words not discernable. Finally, he could take no more. He howled in
misery at the top of his lungs and charged through the apartment. He crashed
into the bedroom and flung open the closet.
In a fit of terrified rage he kicked the large trunk repeatedly before
fumbling with the clasps in his sweaty, twitching hands and flinging the trunk
open. The reek of rot and decomposing
meat immediately filled the room. He screamed and sobbed his fury and
frustration at them. Demanding
repeatedly that they just shut UP. He’d
had ENOUGH of their noise and their taunting. Their mocking and insults when
they thought he wasn’t looking. Saying awful things about him, and worse, about
mother.
Finally,
his energy had been expelled, his anxiety and anguish vented. He slid down the
wall next to the trunk, crying quietly. They were finally silent; the shouting
and dancing and banging having ended as soon as his ranting began. Relieved, he closed the trunk, completely
oblivious to the stench of decay. Maybe this time he’d finally shown them. He’d seen a patrol car earlier. They’d have to shut up. Mother wouldn’t
approve. Speaking of mother, it was time to resume his vigil by the freezer.
She’d get angry if he wasn’t properly grateful, didn’t show proper attention,
and there would be the belt.
Behind
him, they began noisily banging around once more.
